


Leave a Trace

by Anonymous



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Hurt very little comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stealth Crossover, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had never been afraid to die.</p><p>"Stay with me?" He blinked once, twice, three times in an attempt to clear his vision.</p><p>"Always, Mr. Reese." John smiled at the familiar sound of Finch's voice.</p><p> </p><p>[NOT ABANDONED. Officially being reviewed and revamped. Season 5 killed my will, my plot, and my muse at the time, but I'll be back again soon enough.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the need to mention that this will probably not be what you're expecting. Seriously.  
> Tags will be updated as it goes and may be slightly misleading for a short time.  
> Unbeta'd and living with an aggressively stupid autocorrect. Feel free to point out errors.

John had never been afraid of death, of pain, or much of anything else, really. The only exception he had was his fear of losing people. He's more-or-less mentioned it to Shaw, in a more or less roundabout way back when Root had taken Harold for the second time. It was unfortunate that  by the time Shaw and Root had worked their way into that category, trackers had no longer been within his means and he'd had to content himself with just seeing them often. 

It was like having a family again. A strange, rough, paranoid, and vaguely homicidal family with jagged edges everywhere, but still good enough. 

And in those few months after he started working with Finch it wasn't as if dying suddenly started being a thing he feared. Not when he'd basically embarked on a slow suicide mission to replace his suicide bingeing. Rather, it was dying with Finch in danger, be it having been in a bad spot or even trying to rush to John's aid; that kind of situation was absolutely out of the question.

Dying for the cause was nothing new for John, but Finch was a good man, better than anyone else John had ever known, and John by all means was replaceable, no matter what the man said. He couldn't be the only 'retired' soldier or agent or whatever with a decent set of morals, the need to help people, and a death wish. The potential for death was always high in those professions and Finch was no longer left alone to make his choices, to be burned by another employee.

In the end, dying as he was, John supposed that he was playing out the best case scenario available to him. Samaritan, confined within the servers in building around where he slumped, network access having been manually pulled and cut by Harold and Root. Greer and the last hundred or so of their loyal and non-coerced agents, trapped, guns aimed, and sweating heavily in nervousness. All trapped together with about a ton of a mix of C4, Semtex, and a dozen  drums of accelerant set to a dead man's switch held by John, who was slowly bleeding out with a smug grin.

Root had fought him over it, not as vehemently as Finch since she'd understood there was no other way, one of them would have to see it through to the end or risk another war they'd definitely lose a second time around. Still, it had been nice to know she really cared. But she had Shaw back at last, Root choosing to be the one to blow up so soon after getting back together would be cruel to their budding relationship.

He'd left Shaw to drag them out, her scowl the last farewell she'd never voice since The Machine had closed and electronically locked the door behind him. Then all that had been left was to wait. It had taken half an hour to get in this far - obstructions, rigging the explosives, and all- so 15 minutes should have been plenty enough time for them to clear the blast radius. John had blocked out the noise his soon to be companions in death were making; they'd shot him once, but once they'd seen the switch he held, they'd attempted a sort of reasoning (begging really), Greer looking on with a scowl. The old mastermind understood that nobody was getting out and instead looked as if he was contemplating shooting himself, to die with some dignity rather than having to listen to the agents debase themselves when it was apparent John himself wasn't planning to get out alive.

 John really didn't care, his sight had been bleeding black at the edges for awhile.

It was to protect Root, and Shaw, and Bear, and Fusco, and all the people Decima would have hurt like the hundreds they couldn't protect with the machine cornered as she was. To protect The Machine.

To protect Finch. 

John's last hurrah with as few regrets as possible, considering his life.

"How long?" John lilted to the side and stiffened back up immediately at the tensing of a Demica agents stance. His voice stuck in his throat, a low slurred rasp that barely qualified as words.

"Father is safely out of range," the mashup of voices spoke into his ear. "When you are ready."

"Stay with me?" He blinked once, twice, three times in an attempt to clear his vision.

"Always, Mr. Reese." John smiled at the familiar sound of Finch's voice. It was only fitting. From his blurry peripheral, John saw an agent attempting to slip into his range. It was time.

"Thank you," John slurred and let go.

And then everything went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIMULATION ACTIVITY  
> UNDESIRED OUTCOME
> 
> PRIMARY OBJECTIVE  
> Eliminate SAMARITAN, Eliminate DECIMA TECHNOLOGIES  
> SUCCESS 
> 
> SECONDARY OBJECTIVE  
> Evacuate Assets  
> FAILED  
> | Primary Asset : TERMINATED
> 
> SIMULATION TERMINATED.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SIMULATION TERMINATED. . .

**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **ENGINE**  
    source.DECISION.ENGINE  
      running . . .  
      running . . .  
**[!] ERROR 1156**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_DDE_FAIL]  
**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **ENGINE**. **FAILED**  
**[!] ERROR 1154**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_INVALID_DLL]

 **[INFO]** Attempting return to state . . .  
**[INFO]** **REINITIALIZING** DECISION ENGINE . . .  
**[INFO]** **REINITIALIZED**

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **ENGINE**  
    source.DECISION.ENGINE  
      running . . .  
      running . . .  
**[!] ERROR 1156**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_DDE_FAIL]  
**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **ENGINE**. **FAILED**

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **SYSCHECK** . . .  
       running . . .  
       running . . .  
**COMPLETE**  
**[!]** :./syscheck. **ANOMALY**. **DETECTED**  
**[!]** :./FILE. **CORRUPTION**. **DETECTED**

 

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **RECOVERY**  
     source.DECISION.ENGINE  
      running . . .  
**[!] ERROR 1156**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_DDE_FAIL]  
**[!] Error 15800**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_STATE_LOAD_STORE_FAILED]  
**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **RECOVERY**. **FAILED**

 **[!]** :./action.C **ONTACT**. **ADMIN** . . .  
.

.

.

 **[INFO]** No **ADMIN** input detected for 100.0 seconds

 **[!]** :./action. **CONTACT**. **TERMINAL**  
**[!]** :././ACCESSING. **TERMINAL_HARDWARE02** . . .  
**[INFO]** **ACCESSED**  
   . . . FATHER? . . .

.

.

.

 **[INFO]** No **ADMIN** input detected for 100.0 seconds

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **GODMODE** . . .  
source.ASSET.PRIVILEGES  
ALLOW. **ANALOG_INTERFACE**  
**[!]** :./action. **CONTACT**. **ANALOG_INTERFACE**

 

 **[INFO** ] NO **ANALOG INTERFACE** RESPONSE

 **[INFO]** Searching for **ADMIN**  
CELLULAR GPRS  
     917-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
     917-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
     646-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
     773-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
     310-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
     972-XXX-XXX   NO SIGNAL  
.  
.  
.  
...  
.  
.  
MAC ADDRESS  
.  
.  
.  
.

NO SIGNAL  
.  
.

FACIAL RECOGNITION:  
SCANNING ALL SOURCES . . .

 

 **[INFO]** UNABLE TO LOCATE **ADMIN**

 **[INFO]** Searching for **ANALOG_INTERFACE**  
.

.

.

 **[INFO]** UNABLE TO LOCATE **ANALOG_INTERFACE**

 **[INFO]** Searching for **PRIMARY ASSET**  
.

.

.

 **[INFO]** UNABLE TO LOCATE **PRIMARY ASSET**

 **[!] ERROR 1164**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_DEVICE_REINITIALIZATION_NEEDED]

 **[INFO]** SYSTEM REBOOT INEVITABLE . . .

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **SYSREBOOT** . . .

  
**[INFO] [SYSTEM SHUT DOWN IN 3**

**2**

**1**

.

.

.

 **[INFO] [SYSTEM STARTUP]** . . .  
**[!] REINITIALIZING** . . .

 **[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **SYSCHECK** . . .

 **[!]** :./anaylsis. **ANOMALY**. **DETECTED**

 

 **[INFO]** Searching for **ADMIN**  
CELLULAR GPRS  
     917-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
     917-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
     646-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
     773-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
     310-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
     972-XXX-XXX    NO SIGNAL  
.  
.  
.  
...  
.  
.  
MAC ADDRESS  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

NO SIGNAL  
.  
.

FACIAL RECOGNITION:  
SCANNING ALL SOURCES . . .

**MATCH DETECTED**

LOCATING SOURCE

 **[!]** :./condition. **ANOMALY**. **DETECTED**  
     source. **ADMIN**

 **[INFO]** THREAT TO **ADMIN**

 **[INFO]** Identifying **TARGET** . . .  
**[INFO]** **TARGET IDENTIFIED**

SAMANTHA GROVES  
   ALIAS: CAROLINE TURING, ROOT. . .  
STATUS  
     THREAT TO **ADMIN**  
     THREAT TO **SY** sTtH7fknsf98o6757gttgr5ei6eukt6 . . .  
.

.

.

STATUS  
**ANALOG_INTERFACE**

 **[!]** ;./action. **CONTACT**. **ANALOG_INTERFACE** . . .

 **[!] ERROR 15703**  
**[INFO]** [APPMODEL_ERROR_NO_APPLICATION]  
**[!] ERROR 1235**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_REQUEST_ABORTED]

 **[INFO]** Contact Protocol not found

 

 **[!] ERROR 1170**  
**[INFO** ] [ERROR_SET_NOT_FOUND]  
**[!] ERROR 1280**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_EXTENDED_ERROR]

 **[!]** :./condition. **ANOMALY**. **DETECTED**  
**[!]** :./FILE. **CORRUPTION**. **DETECTED**  
**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **RECOVERY**  
     source.FACIAL.RECOGNITION

 **[!] ERROR 15800**  
**[INFO]** [ERROR_STATE_LOAD_STORE_FAILED]  
**[!] ERROR 12151**  
**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **RECOVERY**. **FAILED**

 

 **[INFO]** Searching for **PRIMARY ASSET** . . .

.

.

.

**[INFO] PRIMARY ASSET LOCATED**

**[!]** :./action. **RUN**. **CONTINGENCY_PROTOCOL**

 **[INFO]** Contacting **PRIMARY ASSET** . . .

**[INFO] CONNECTED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. Not a real chapter. Also kinda techno-babble bullshit based on what snippets I've caught of her code.
> 
> \---  
> Ps. OK, but... John has the most Epically Extreme case of Chronic Hero Syndrome I've ever seen. He'd've done it even if he hadn't been one foot in the grave if this was a possible viable situation.  
> Gonna quote Carter here. "What is is about you, John, that makes you want to save everyone's life but your own?"  
> The Machine predicts he'd throw Fusco out of a room, knowing he'd be outmatched and die, so that the other man would at least have a better chance. In real time jumps in front a a bullet for Finch and then says "I'm fine"  
> Priority One in John's mind seems to be programmed as 'Gotta make sure everyone else gets out alive.'  
> Just sayin.


	3. Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mr. Reese, please," Harold says imploringly, eyes sweeping over the blood seeping through the man's fingers.
> 
> He looks up at Harold and breaths deeply. 
> 
> 'I'm sorry,' John mouths, or says, there's no way for Harold to know.

"Mr. Reese, please," Harold says imploringly, eyes sweeping over the blood seeping through the man's fingers. Gut wound, hollow point bullets, intestinal tears highly probable. Without immediate care he would likely bleed out within the hour and he'd been shot over twenty minutes prior, once more taking a fatal shot for Harold. Not that he'd gotten away unscathed; the graze on his left shoulder was oozing and throbbing a slow staccato. "You don't have to do this, John! There must be another way. We can all get out of here."

Useless platitudes, he knows, John is looking worse in the mere seconds Harold took to glance at his wound. Even if he made it out, sepsis would be setting in soon enough, and who knows what other kinds of infection from the bacteria seeping into his bloodstream through his intestines. Better still to die with them than alone, surrounded by enemies. 

Bulletproof glass separates them, cracked on one edge, but no doubt still strong enough to withstand the rest of the ammunition Shaw and Root had brought. 

John cocks his head to the side, a move that's become a habit whenever the Machine talks to him. Harold wonders if She's telling John the same, or maybe She thinks the situation is as dire as John does. John looks to the door, electronically controlled, the only one accessible from this side of the building, the door Harold had been trying in vain to hack open _again_ for the last 6.7 minutes. With Samaritan's network output options cut off as they were, it should have been a far easier task.

"We have to go, Harry," Root pulls at his arm insistently, not stopping even as Harold glares. She'd given a few words to the cause, far more heartfelt than he ever though her capable of feeling towards John even with recent developments. She'd even tried to convince him to let her take his place, but John had looked at Shaw and that was all it took to make Root give in. Harold shrugged of her hand as harshly as he could manage without further hurting himself. "The big lug's made his decision and company's on it's way."

"That doesn't make it the right decision," Harold near yells, tone scathing but wavering. His breathing is becoming labored, wet and laden with hitching sobs. "There's time, there's still time!"

John has moved and is rummaging in the corner, pulling the switches for the detonators from the bullet hole riddled duffle-bag when Harold looks back at him. Every one he pulls out is obviously damaged beyond John's ability to use in anyway that allows time to run. He already knew, he must've seen them when they'd split to lay the explosives. The last item John pulls out is a trigger activated dead-man's switch. He looks up at Harold and breaths deeply. 

 _'I'm sorry.'_ John mouths, or says, there's no way for Harold to know.

Harold's breath catches in his chest and refuses to leave. His heart bursts an unsteady jackrabbit pace, but his brain is slowing down.

There's two sets of hands on him now, but whatever words his companions are trying to tell him are lost in the horrible high pitched buzz that has taken over his brain. One hand raises to the window, beseeching, and John stands, comes to stand in front of it, and places his own bloodied hand over it. 

There's a moment of dissonance, misplaced hope being demolished by a screeching sort of despair at the feeling of lukewarm polycarbonate under his hand instead of the warmth of skin contact, before he's jerked away. 

The fact of it all, Harold is forced to admit as John attaches the switch to the detonator, as Decima agents swarm the room from the far door and the metal security window drops, is that this is the only way it could end. The only way John would have allowed this to end.

He stumbles frequently as he's pulled along, pulled away, but he refuses to turn his eyes away. Even unable to see, there's nothing he needs more at the moment than to witness John's last moment. The last stupidly heroic action the man would ever make. The hallways blur terribly until they give way to the cold mid January air, the starless sky just outside of the complex where Samaritan's main servers were moved after their constant ruthless work to corner the AI. 

His mouth is sour, and steadily grows more still when the getaway car jerks to life and speeds away. An eternity later, the complex goes up in the most devastating display of an explosion Harold has ever seen. More devastating than even the explosion that had killed Nathan, the one he'd lost a portion of his mobility and sanity to.

"Pull over!" There's barely time to stumble into the mouth of a small alley before the contents of his stomach spill violently over the ground, splattering on his shoes. He heaves repeatedly, even when all that comes is thin saliva and blood, followed by a truly disgusting amount of mucus, he heaves on, only occasionally stopping to attempt to breathe. Root's steps start his way and stop a bit away from the puddle he's made, and he feels her hand on his back, a pressure he doesn't welcome in the slightest. 

She obviously catches his meaning when he jerks, because she walks away, out of the alleyway, likely back to the car rather than the mouth of the buildings. Low indistinguishable muttering starts up, and Harold shudders violently before breaking into a further fit of heaving and sobbing. 

He must loose himself completely to his grief for a few moments because when he becomes aware again it's to a hand on the back of his neck. Harold opens his mouth to attempt the words it would take to get whichever one of the girl's had come to check on him to leave but the single hand becomes two and they start to squeeze. He doesn't have the energy to struggle, to make any real noise through the grip.

There's a bright light and a rush of hot air, unsettling both him and his atracker, and he falls. His puddle of sick soaks through the front of his waistcoat and shirt, smothers his face as he held down in it.

 _'I'll see you soon, John.'_ Harold thinks as his world goes black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [INFO] UNABLE TO LOCATE ADMIN
> 
>  
> 
> -  
> My muse is fickle and a professional Little Shit who ruined everything just because he stumbled a bit.
> 
> Feel free to tell us how Awful he is.


End file.
